


The Sin Bin

by orphan_account



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of old Hardy x Miller short stories imported from my tumblr. Be advised the rating changes from chapter to chapter.





	1. Sleepy Morning

**Author's Note:**

> None of the chapters in this fic are related - this is just a grab bag of old drafts and stories I hadn't published on AO3 yet. Chapters 4, 5 and 6 feature explicit sexual content, so if that's not your thing you can easily avoid them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, fluffy fic. Mild sexual themes.

They lay together in bed, bathed in a post-coital glow. Hardy was absently stroking Ellie’s hair, a look of contentment upon his face, while Ellie was half-dozing. When she cracked an eye open she noted his expression. She mumbled:

‘You’re making a really weird face.’

His serenity disturbed, Hardy replied in a tone that suggested wounded dignity, ‘I’m smiling.’

‘It doesn’t look like smiling. It looks more like you’re…’ she paused, groping for an adjective, ‘constipated.’

A huff escaped him and he turned his head to the side.

‘Aw, I didn’t mean for you to stop!’ she said, propping herself on her elbow and prodding him. ‘I just usually never see you – y’know, happy.’

He turned his face upwards again and regarded her, now wearing a more familiar frown. ‘Is it so strange?’

‘I like it,’ she assured him. His expression remained the same so she poked him in the ribs. ‘Come on, where’s my smiley Hardy?’

He frowned obstinately. Ellie scooted over and tangled him in her arms, giving his bum a cheeky squeeze as she did.  

‘Stop,’ he said. 

‘Smile for me, go on!’

‘No.’

‘You can’t stay mad at me,’ she insisted, and lean lines of amusement briefly bracketed his mouth. ‘Ah-ha! I saw you twitch!’

‘Trick of the light.’

Ellie got him in a headlock and started mussing his hair. ‘Get off!’ he cried. This began a wrestling match that only ended once Hardy got Ellie’s legs between his own and pinioned her arms. They lay facing each other.

‘I win,’ Hardy told her.

She promptly licked his nose. 

‘Ugh! El!’ 

He released one of her arms to scrub the saliva from his nose. Ellie took advantage of this to break free and get him in a hold of her own. She could hear him laughing, and finally he said, ‘all right. You win.’

Ellie lay back, triumphant, quiescent, satisfied. Hardy now had his head pillowed against her chest, and her arm was locked affectionately around his neck.

Their chests rose and fell in unison. The look of contentment returned to Hardy’s face. Ellie began drumming her fingers against him. Thoughtfully, she said:

‘Hey, Alec?’

‘Mm?’

‘Are you?’ she asked. ‘Happy, I mean?’

Hardy reached up and touched the arm around him. He stroked up until he found her slender digits, and their fingers curled together.

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘I am.’ And he smiled.


	2. Do You Know How Much I Spent on These Sexy Knickers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW fic that comes from an old draft of First Date - originally, that fic was going to be about Hardy not realising Ellie had asked him on a date, but I decided it would be funnier if Ellie was the oblivious one. I preserved the original for posterity.

She was on her own, shopping for new football shorts for Tom when she saw it.

There, on the store mannequin, was some lovely matching black lingerie. Colour rose to her cheeks as she studied the bra and knickers – they were lacy, frilly, provocative and covered in too many tiny bows to count. They were incredibly impractical and surely incredibly uncomfortable. But…

They made her think of her upcoming date with Hardy. Their first real date. Dinner at her house, just the two of them. 

She wondered what she would look like wearing this.

She wondered what Hardy would say if he saw her wearing this.

And then she imagined him tearing it off her. 

She squirmed a little in her shoes. Still blushing, she shook her head and walked on quickly. A few seconds later she doubled back. She checked if they had her size. They did. She discreetly made sure no-one was looking, then took it off the rack and held it up to herself.

She glanced at the price tag and blanched. The two scraps of fabric together cost more than everything she was wearing right now. She put it back on the rack. Money was tight at the moment. She couldn’t afford such a frivolous expense.

But it _would_ be nice.

She picked it up again. The fabric was sheer and smooth. She rolled it between her thumb and forefingers and a crooked smile formed on her face. 

Yeah, it would be nice to wear something sexy for once. Something that wasn’t baggy and covered in toddler vomit. Underwear that wasn’t ten years old and coming apart at the seams. This date with Hardy would be her first proper date since Joe, and unbeknownst to him she had already decided to shag his brains out. She’d been quietly looking forward to it for such a long time, and even though the nervousness was crippling her, she couldn’t help but imagine wowing him with something like this.

She looked down at herself and heaved a little sigh. She was a mum in her early forties and it showed. Would it really be worth buying this just to dress up the caesarean scar and the stretch marks and the cellulite?

In a funk of depression, she roughly replaced the garment again. She’d look ridiculous in something like this. A single glance at all the posters and advertisements around her that featured long-limbed, elegant models confirmed it. Lingerie was for gorgeous, free-spirited twentysomethings with belly button piercings, not divorced, middle-aged single mothers such as herself. And she’d never worn anything like this before. Who was she kidding?

She stomped off in a huff, feeling stupid and embarrassed.

10 minutes later she came back and bought it anyway.

—

Ellie fixed the black bra into place and smoothed her fingers over her abdomen. She studied herself in the mirror.

The bra pushed her rather ample breasts up to high heaven. The cleft and swell of her bosoms was tantalising, almost painterly in its perfection. Her stomach – well, a bit saggy. A bit scarred. Nothing to be done about that. But her arse – that looked quite fetching. She turned and looked at herself from the back. The cellulite was barely visible in this light. Her legs were strong, firm and muscular from walking up and down the cliffs of Broadchurch. Her skin was pale, and lightly dusted with freckles. The black lingerie enhanced her assets and distracted from all the little bits and pieces she disliked about herself.

She had to be honest – she felt a bit sexy. She hadn’t felt sexy in years. Not since she’d given birth to Fred at least, and of course it had hardly done wonders for her self-esteem to discover that her husband – the man she loved and trusted most in the world – was a pedophile who had used her body to repress his true desires. All the disgust and horror she felt about the situation had manifested as hatred for her own body, and a fear of physical intimacy.

She recognised what a milestone it was to have reached this point. To be happy to wear this. For herself. 

For _him._

She sorted through her clothes, trying to find the perfect dress to go with the smashing breasts this bra had given her. She tried on everything in the house, before settling on something simple yet stylish with a plunging neckline. Then she got scared and threw a jacket on over the top.

She was blushing and smiling at the thought of what would – hopefully – happen later tonight. She wanted a nice defrocking. She wanted to be defrocked several times. Defrocked good and proper.

Looking into the mirror, she pressed her lips together in a brooding, masculine pout. ‘Oh Miller, I could kiss you,’ she said in her best Scottish accent, and promptly dissolved into laughter. She felt like she was twenty years old again, on her first serious date. There were butterflies in her stomach.

She heard the doorbell ring and the flitting butterflies turned into thundering rhinos. In a frenzy, she bundled all her clothes up, shoved them in her closet, and heaved the doors closed. They immediately drifted ajar, and she decided that would have to do.

She took one last look around her bedroom. She had not had a man in here since she had repainted it. She was quietly glad it would be Hardy she brought here. Brimming with anticipation, she smoothed her hands over her dress and ran downstairs.

—

Less than two hours later, she was in floods of tears.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ she said to herself. 

So. It hadn’t been a date after all. He’d thought he was here, at her house, having dinner, to work late. Not “work late” as she’d euphemistically put it, but genuinely work late.

She had expected wine, flowers, chocolate. He’d shown up with a box of evidence under his arm.

She probably should’ve clocked the misunderstanding at that moment. Instead, the date had unravelled by degrees, until at last the truth came out. They had argued, she had shouted, and Hardy, in a somewhat bewildered state, had been banished from her house.

The push-up bra was starting to suffocate her. She was overwhelmed by the need to get out of these clothes and started struggling with the zip of her dress.

She could not stand the humiliation. The expectation - the thought that he might love her - that she could have thought he was…

‘God fucking Christ!’ she shouted. ‘Stupid fucking zip!’

She ended up tugging the dress straight over her head. She hurled it against the door, then stalked into the bathroom and tried to remove her make-up and special black bra and knickers all at the same time. All that effort. All the exfoliating and moisturising she’d done. All in sweet anticipation.

All for nothing.

She ripped the bra and knickers aside off and tossed them aside, not aiming at anything in particular. The knickers promptly fell into the toilet.

A gloomy heaviness settled over her. Anger turned to embarrassment, then to apathy. She couldn’t even be bothered dealing with that particular problem. 

Several minutes later she was curled in bed wearing nothing but a more familiar hideous blue nightie and eating ice cream from the tub, alone in her pretty repainted bedroom.

That was when, impossibly, there came a knock at her bedroom door.

‘Miller?’

She almost had a heart attack. ‘What the shitting _hell_ ,’ she hissed. ‘Alec?’

‘It’s me,’ he confirmed. ‘Erm, can I come in?’

She was sure she had locked him outside. ‘How the hell did you get back in?’ she demanded, flinging the door open.

‘I know where the key is,’ he explained, in that infuriating way of his that only raised more questions. ‘Mil – Ellie - did you really ask me on a date tonight?’

She felt like she was going to burst a blood vessel. ‘Of course I fucking did!’

He blinked. ‘I didn’t realise,’ he ventured.

‘You’re a fucking detective! You should have worked it out! Honestly, what did I need to do to give it away? Put runway lights on the mattress?’

He studied her for a long moment.

‘You’ve been crying,’ he said quietly. He tried to touch her face.

‘No I haven’t,’ she muttered, swatting him away.

He wrung his hands. ‘I would’ve said yes,’ he blurted. ‘If I’d known - if I’d realised you were asking me on a date - I would’ve said yes.’

‘Bit late now,’ she retorted.

‘I’m glad,’ he went on feebly. ‘No - not that you’re crying - I mean, I’m glad to know it was a date. Because I want - I’ve wanted to - I’ve been meaning - I think you’re… and - with you - erm…’

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if amazed to find how few words he actually possessed in his vocabulary. 

‘Do you want to try again?’ he asked at last. ‘Start the night over - start fresh, as a date?’

She burst into a fresh flood of tears.

‘Oh God - I’m sorry,’ he began.

‘I can’t,’ she mumbled.

‘Why not?’

‘I ruined my sexy knickers.’

‘Sexy knickers?’

She covered her face with her hands. ‘I took them off and accidentally dropped them in the toilet.’

She could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain.

‘Were you wearing lingerie for me?’ His gaze was intense, incredulous.

‘Don’t look at me. I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Can I kiss you?’ 

‘Absolutely not. Go stand over there.’

Hardy hesitated for a second, then slunk over to the wall. ‘Here?’

‘No. The corner.’

She pointed. He went to the place she indicated and watched her apprehensively, waiting for further instructions.

When the crying subsided, she wiped her eyes and sat on the bed with a sigh.

‘Do you like the colour of this room?’ she asked

‘Yeah,’ Hardy replied, in the tone of a schoolboy who doubts his own answer.

‘I repainted it after I moved back here. After everything that happened with Joe. You know, I’d been nagging him for six months to paint it, but he never did.’

Hardy stayed silent, watching her with concern.

‘He’s never been in this room when it’s this colour.’

‘Ellie,’ Hardy said from the corner. ‘I’d really like to hold you.’

She made a noise. ‘Not hugging you,’ she muttered obstinately.

He crossed over to her.

‘I said no,’ she insisted.

He sat next to her instead, almost close enough to touch her. After several tortured moments she released a little sigh and leaned sideways until her cheek rested on his shoulder. Cautiously, Hardy, put his arm around her, and eased her against his heart.

‘It’s still the same old wall though, isn’t it?’ she said sadly. ‘No matter how much I dress it up – no matter how many fancy coats of paint I put on it – it’s still the same – the same room that Joe used to sleep in.’

She shuddered.

‘It is the same,’ Hardy agreed slowly. ‘But that’s good. I like this room. I like it as it is, and I’d like it no matter what colour it was.’

‘Even – even if Joe -?’

‘I don’t see him here now, so I don’t see how Joe could possibly be a problem.’

Ellie sniffed. She turned into him and he held her tightly, his arms locked around her.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he hazarded, kissing her hair.

She buried her face in his chest. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘You are.’

‘M’not. I look like I’ve been hit by a truck. My hair’s a mess, my eyes are all red from crying and I’m wearing something that looks like a potato sack.’

‘And you’re beautiful.’

She looped her arms around his neck and clung to him, though she turned her face aside when he tried to kiss her, looking sulky.

‘I wish you’d seen me in my sexy knickers.’

A sound of mirth escaped him. ‘I do too.’

She drew back. ‘I really did look sexy.’

‘You look sexy now.’

She frowned at him. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’

‘M’not lying.’

‘Say something a little more realistic, at least. Compliment me like a normal bloke.’

‘You have great tits.’

She laughed, and it transmuted into a sigh. ‘We’re not very good at this, are we?’

‘What?’

‘This. Us.’

‘Dating?’

‘Mm.’

‘Least we’re trying.’

‘ _I_ am,’ she said reproachfully.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘I kept thinking tonight, how beautiful you looked. It never even occurred to me that you might look that way for me.’

‘Guess being cuckolded doesn’t do much for your self-esteem.’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘I wouldn’t put it _quite_ like that…’

Ellie huddled a little closer to him. ‘This bed is new, too. The bed, the mattress, the sheets, even the pillows. I threw out anything that Joe had touched.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘It makes a difference to me.’

‘Good, then.’ A frown wrinkled his brow. ‘You know, just because Joe’s touched something doesn’t mean it’s tainted.’

‘Maybe not everything,’ she conceded grudgingly. ‘Not my boys, at least. Not the house.’

‘Nor you.’

Ellie thrust out her bottom lip and clung to him, her forehead pressed to his brow and her gaze fixed upon the floor.

He took one of her hands into his own. ‘What would you have done?’ Ellie asked. ‘If you’d known this was a date?’

He considered it. ‘I’d’ve dressed nicely, for one.’

‘In a suit?’

‘Hm. No. Something more casual. Nice, but…’ he trailed off. ‘Probably would’ve bought you something.’

‘Flowers, wine, chocolates?’

‘Yeah. Lilies, ‘cos I know they’re you’re favourite. A pinot, ‘cos you always drink that. And…’ he hummed to himself. ‘Kit Kats. How am I doing so far?’

Ellie picked at his buttons with a smile. ‘It’d get you in the door. What would you have said when you saw me?’

‘I would have told you that I loved your dress. That I thought it was lovely.’

‘Mm. And then what?’ 

‘I’d put my hand on your neck, like this.’

He cupped the back of her neck and held her so that his thumb brushed her cheek. 

‘And I’d put my face to yours…’

He gently turned her soft lips towards his. She did not resist, but closed her eyes.

‘And I would have kissed you - just so.’

He drew away by degrees, his soft lips leaving hers with a gentle pop.

‘And I would have told you… I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

She replied softly, ‘I would have believed you.’


	3. So It Turns Out I'd Do Anything For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from S1. I've always been fascinated by the question of when exactly Hardy realised how much Ellie meant to him. This short piece was me exploring that idea - but honestly, I'm pretty sure the moment he realises is exactly the same instant he realises Joe is the killer, so I abandoned it.

It was late and Ellie was sitting opposite Hardy in his office, looking bored and frustrated. He was doing it again, asking question after question without leaving room for anyone to answer. He was not speaking to her, only before her; it was as if he were in conversation with an invisible entity, an antagonistic and inseparable partner, another possessor of his soul.

Had Ellie known that Hardy’s previous DS was his wife, she would have understood this habit of his. She would have pitied the way he talked to someone who was not there, the way he asked questions rapidly in order to leave no room for silences that would betray her absence.

Instead it only got her hackles up.

‘You’re doing it again,’ she snapped once her patience ran out.

He stopped, and his eyes slowly found hers. She seemed to materialise out of a fog. ‘What?’

‘Asking questions, bam bam bam, so I can’t answer.’

‘Was I?’ he fell silent.

‘Yes. Now listen.’ She stood, leaned over the table and pointed at the map of Broadchurch he had spread before him. ‘I know these cliffs. I know that if you stand here and look out, you can’t see the hut. But if you’re coming along this way…’

She picked up a pen and began outlining the path. Hardy watched her carefully as she spoke, his forehead crumpled into a puzzled frown. As she answered all the questions he had raised, his brow slowly unknotted, and it dawned on him that she had been here the whole time, that other possessor of his soul. 

He had been carrying on as if he were alone in the world, but he was not. Not anymore. She was here, before him, and for all their arguments theirs was an inseparable partnership. Their counterpointed views and superficial differences only brought them closer to each other and to the truth, for on the inside they were the same. They shared the same sense of justice, the same morals, the same love of family, the same instincts to serve and protect. It was as if they possessed one eye each and a single soul between them – only together were they truly able to see. Only together were they whole.

Ellie concluded by saying abrasively, ‘but then again you’d know all this if you actually listened to me once in a while!’ 

The taunt dropped at his feet like a spent arrow. Hardy considered it for a long moment, but he did not fire it back as he usually did.

‘Good,’ was all he said. ‘Good.’ He put his glasses on.

She frowned at him suspiciously, then fired off another shot. ‘It wouldn’t kill you to say thanks once in a while.’

The light from the computer screen bounced off his glasses, obscuring his eyes. She could not make out his mood.

‘It’s late,’ he said shortly. ‘You should go home. Sleep. We’ll chase up those leads tomorrow.’

She huffed and threw up her hands. ‘Fine.’

He watched her as she gathered her things from her desk. This woman – this force of nature, almost – was worming her way into his heart and brain in the most inconvenient way. He heard her voice in his head sometimes, gently admonishing. Her kindness hovered about him like a flutter of wings, almost annoying in its fidelity. He at last comprehended how dear she was to him, and how much he valued her friendship, her partnership - _her._

‘Goodnight, sir,’ she called as she left.

He raised his hand and quietly said, ‘goodnight, Miller.’

When she was gone he slumped miserably back in his seat. His heart ached for her and everything she and the Latimers were going through. He fervently hoped they would find the killer soon. The sooner he was caught, the sooner they would be able to heal, and the sooner Ellie’s life would go back to normal.

He didn’t hold out much hope for his own life, but he thought, perhaps, if he could help Ellie through this trauma he might achieve some kind of redemption.


	4. I Fucked My Way Into This and I'll Fuck My Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content.
> 
> From a first draft of There is No Such Place, which was originally from Hardy's pov. Angst ahoy.

Hardy is buttoning up his shirt in the corner of the room. Ellie sits on the bed, staring vacantly at the patterned carpet. 

He fixes his tie into place. Around. Over. Under. Knots it securely. Picks up his jacket.

‘Ellie,’ he says, and they both flinch at the sound of her name on his tongue.

She looks up at him. Fearing that another word will somehow ruin everything, he points at the door to indicate he is leaving. She nods.

He half steps towards the door before he doubles back. He tries to kiss her goodbye but she recoils.

He takes the rejection with as much good grace as he can muster and swallows a lump in his throat. Without further ado he leaves.

Ellie stays still for a long time. Then she stands and runs her hands over the hotel sheets, straightening them out as best she can, smoothing the folds and creases until everything is neat and orderly, and no evidence remains to show that the bed has been used.

 —

After such a parting, Hardy had not expected a second time. But she messages him less than three days later.

_Can you come to my house tomorrow night?  
_

The answer is yes; for her, always yes. He arrives at their agreed time – past nine o’clock. It is dark. No-one sees him. He approaches like a thief, and she opens the door. 

_The boys are with Luce.  
_

She doesn’t bother with small talk, just drags him upstairs into her newly repainted bedroom. She’s liquid fire beneath his touch, all fury and sinew and heat. She slams him against the wall, bites and goads, and then he pins her and fucks her against those pretty painted walls until she screams.

He doesn’t stay the night. She doesn’t ask him to. 

Thus the thing begins, and thus it continues.

 —

It’s easy to get caught up in it at first. Easy as falling. Easy as drowning. It’s been so long, and she’s so _physical_ when she fucks, so intoxicating. And she _knows_ how to provoke him. How to goad him, how to get him to fight back. When he tries to be gentle, she grinds and squirms and bucks and drives him into a frenzy. When he tries to leave soft kisses on her neck, she bites into the meat of his shoulder. When he presses her close, she claws his back until he’s covered in cat-scratches. He learns to respond in kind. It’s like one of their arguments – back and forth, tit for tat. She grinds beneath him, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Sometimes he barely knows whether the sounds she’s making indicate pleasure or pain, but whenever he hesitates she orders him not to stop. If he asks if she’s okay, she tells him not to hold back.

She likes it when he fucks her from behind. She likes it when he pins her to the wall. She likes it rough, likes it to be a fight, all growling and biting and slapping skin. He’s a detective; he’s good with the details, and he zeroes in pretty quickly on what leaves her satisfied.

It’s not long, however, before what she _doesn’t_ like catches his attention.

She doesn’t like it when he whispers her name. _Fuck, harder, there, don’t stop, yes, no…_ that seems to be all she can tolerate. When he calls her Ellie she scratches him, hard enough to draw blood, and she’s never called him Alec.

She doesn’t like it when he looks into her eyes. She turns her face away, or she asks him to fuck her from behind.

She doesn’t like to hold him afterwards. She shuns his attempts at intimacy. She leaves, or asks him to leave, soon after every encounter. It amazes him how she can still be so far away when they’re so close, how he can lose himself in her body and still be a stranger to her heart.

She looks at the bites and bruises and hickeys he gives her with something like satisfaction and relief, but she doesn’t like it when he touches them in a soothing way, when he tries to communicate he’s sorry he hurt her.

—

After one vigorous session, Hardy lies back and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep so Ellie can slip away from him, as she often does. He feels her stir; she sits up. Time passes in heartbeats, then he feels a little hand touch his chest and slowly trace his red-lipped pacemaker scar. She contemplates that gash; lingers on each of the little puckers left by the stitches; then she curls up next to him and nestles her head against his heart. 

She stays like that for an hour. Before she goes she prints a lingering kiss on his brow, and he realises it is the first truly intimate gesture she has made toward him.

—

She doesn’t like it when he says he loves her.

It slips out. He groans it in a heat of passion and she flinches, recoils as if she’s been hit, shrinks away from him. There’s a flash of real fear in her eyes, and he understands.

She’s afraid. Afraid of loving him, or of him loving her. Their rough, argumentative sex doesn’t scare her. She’s comfortable with that, comfortable with their combative relationship. But more than that - acknowledging whatever truly exists between them - it scares her.

And why should it surprise him? Joe had been nothing but gentle with her right up until the moment she discovered what he’d done.

 _I always loved you, El…_

Joe had flayed her alive with his love, and his tenderness, and his gentle kisses, hurt and tortured her until she thought she’d never be free from the pain.

Of course she can’t bear his own tenderness, let alone his love.

Of course.

—

She drags him into her bedroom late one night and tries to instigate one of their usual abrasive encounters, but he resists her goading. They’re both growing frustrated with each other when he finally pins her onto the mattress with a snarl, his weight heavy upon her hips and his hands manacled around her wrists.

He’s so much bigger and stronger than her, and she loves it when he uses it, puts the newfound strength to good use. She tosses her hair and looks up at him, flushed and expectant. She’s been in this position before.

Several long moments pass. Hardy stares quietly at her.

‘What?’ she demands. 

He kisses her. She responds eagerly, her tongue snaking up to meet his, but when she bites his lip he moves away.

‘No.’

He bends again and begins kissing her neck, her breasts, her collarbones. Little scratchy kisses that make her flush. She’s tense beneath him, every muscle and tendon seized up. Like the barrel of a loaded gun. Like a bow bent back. She struggles a little, then his tongue finds that sensitive spot on her neck and she gasps.

He releases one of her wrists and strokes the hair from her face. She flinches away from the touch, but he persists. Traces the contours of her nose and cheekbones, her hairline and jaw. Kisses her, long and slow. Explores her mouth languorously, one hand cupping her jaw, the thumb stroking back and forth on her cheek, and she doesn’t fight him.

She’s breathless when he stops.

‘You’re shaking,’ he notes, and she is, trembling like a little thing with feathers. He strokes up her sternum and smooths his hand over her breasts. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

She shakes her head, no, but she shrinks again when he touches her hair. He presses his forehead to hers, and looks into her brown eyes, so similar to his own. 

‘Trust me.’

_(I trust her.)  
_

_(There are no secrets between him and me.)_

It’s almost superfluous when she affirms, ‘I do.’

He starts kissing her all over, touches and rubs every part of her, kneading her until slowly, by degrees, she stops feeling like she’s about to snap beneath him. She’s turning to liquid under his ministrations, turning to water. He nuzzles between her breasts, presses an open-mouthed kiss on her sternum. She makes a soft mewling noise, arches up against his hands as he roams.

He wants to taste her, but he’s enraptured with looking at her. He sucks his fingers, then parts her pubic hair and slides them inside her. She’s already wet, and he slicks easily in and out. She makes a shivery little movement, and a round gasp slips out when he finds her clit.

Her eyes are closed. She’s biting down on her lip. He kisses her body for a little as he makes shallow, gentle, crooking thrusts with his fingers.

‘Look at me,’ he whispers. ‘Ellie. Ellie. Will you look at me?’

She does. Her eyes slowly open and she sucks in a sharp breath when she sees the expression on his face - the wonderment, the tenderness. She is so raw, so vulnerable, and he sees that flash of fear again.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he says, and that too feels superfluous.

She whimpers. ‘Alec -’

Her breath catches and she says no more. She reaches up, threads her fingers into his hair, and draws him close. When she comes, she clings to him, her breath soft and keening, but she leaves no marks on him.

He watches her pant for a moment. ‘My Ellie,’ he whispers, nuzzling her nose.

A tiny laugh escapes her, and the sound knocks straight through him, clanging against the chambers of his heart. He hovers over her, palms himself, but she stops him. Flips him onto his back. She mounts him and rides him slow and hard.

Their noses bump and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a smile. She mirrors the gesture.

‘Say you love me,’ she whispers.

He catches her in both arms. ‘I love you,’ he says without hesitation.

Her breath is shaky. She cups his face in her hands, her hips grinding hard against him. ‘Say it again.’

He kisses her neck. Doesn’t bite, just sucks; swirls his tongue over the old marks he’d left on her. ‘I love you.’ 

He can’t hold out long enough to make her come again before he does, but it barely matters; he simply keeps her clasped close and keeps stroking until he feels her come a second time. 

She’s trembling all over now, and crying. He makes soothing passes with his hands, then draws her down to nestle against the hollow of his chest, and she fits as if she’s always belonged there.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbles rapidly. Her damp lashes are stuck to her cheeks like tags. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry.’

He wants to tell her that it’s all right. He wants to tell her he understands. He wants to let her know she doesn’t have to fear his love. Thoughts and feelings crowd on his tongue, jostling one another. 

He says instead, ‘I’m not him.’

A deep exhalation drifts from her, and for the first time she truly seems satisfied. ‘I know.’


	5. You Can Overcompensate With Me Anytime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content.
> 
> Smut ahoy. First time shenanigans ft. the bickering losers.

He hadn’t meant for their first time to be so spectacularly underwhelming. But:

‘It’s been so long,’ he gasped. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just been so long…’

He could feel her disappointment. ‘S’okay. I understand.’

He rolled off, still panting slightly. As he tossed the condom into the bin, she sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. He caught her arm.

‘Where are you going?’

She made a confused noise.

‘I haven’t taken care of you yet.’

‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘You don’t have to.’

He began kissing her, slow and hard and heavy, then pushed her back down onto the mattress. ‘What sort of man would I be if I didn’t?’

He was starting to leave her breathless, but she was slightly stiff under his hands, as if she didn’t really understand what was happening - that from now on she would only have to think of her own pleasure.

‘Did you think I’d leave you?’ Hardy continued. ‘So unsatisfied?’

She gigglesnorted, and her trepidation dissipated by degrees. ‘If this is you trying to be suave and sexy, God help you.’

He kissed her, gently exploring her mouth, and slipped his hand between her legs. 

‘What should I say, then?’

‘You’re meant to say I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. And compliment my breasts. And also make it last more than two minutes, though it’s a bit late for that.’

He sighed. ‘Why can’t you women just take that as a compliment?’

‘“You women?”’ Ellie repeated. ‘There’s a sentence that’s asking for a slap.’

He started kissing his way down her body, giving particular attention to her breasts and nipples, which coaxed a throaty gasp from her. ‘I get the feeling I should stop talking now.’

‘Might be a good idea, yeah.’

He kept kissing his way down, then took hold of her thighs and pulled her roughly towards him. She tensed up slightly, a flash of heat going through her, then relaxed and surrendered herself to his strong hands. There wasn’t another man in the world she would allow to touch her like this, and they both knew it.

He lingered on the insides of her thighs, his whiskers prickling the sensitive skin. He breathed in the smell of her, kissed all around her inner thighs and lower abdomen.

‘God, your _beard_ ,’ Ellie groaned. She followed up this sentence by swearing loudly as pressed his tongue to her cunt and swiped upwards.

He was good. _Shit,_ he was good. She tried to think of something pithy to say, but she could barely think straight. He started purring like an idling engine as he licked and sucked, as if he were somehow taking just as much pleasure from this as she was.

He flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue and she jerked and writhed. He held her in place and began fucking in and out with his fingers, first one, then two, curling and crooking as he continued to use his tongue with devastating efficiency. He read her moans and the little shivers and whimpers she made like forensic evidence, putting it all together to work out _exactly_ what revved her up.

It all happened quickly. Heat washed through her. Her head fell back against the pillow and her toes curled. She gasped. Her muscles clenched hard around him.

‘Fuck. Oh fuck, fuck,’ she whispered. ‘Ah – _Alec…’_

Her legs were trembling. Hardy rested his face against her thigh and looked up at her. There was a tiny smile on his face.

‘Good?’ he asked innocently.

‘Fuck,’ she said again, panting.

He scooted up to lie next to her, propping himself on his elbow so he could look at her. She was flushed and breathless.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said, covering her face with her arm.

‘Like what?’

‘Like that. All smug.’

‘I’m just happy you’re happy.’

‘Shut up.’

She rolled over and swiped his beard with her thumbs. ‘You’re a mess.’

‘Good,’ he rumbled, leaning into her touch. ‘Hm. El. Did you really not expect me to… y’know… reciprocate?’ 

‘You make it sound so romantic,’ she said drily. She paused. ‘Well. It happens sometimes that - and…’

She fell silent. Hardy thought, though he did not say, that Joe must have been shit in bed.

‘I can _feel_ you thinking,’ Ellie said, smiting him in the ribs with her elbow. She sighed. ‘Yeah.’

He started drawing thoughtful circles on her soft belly, making her shiver in little pulses.

‘Tess’d never let me get away with something like that.’

‘Yeah, well, no offense but I think I’d prefer _not_ to be compared to her.’

‘Sorry. Suppose I shouldn’t really be talking about this right now.’ 

His hand inched lower. He started stroking her clit, rubbing in slow circles. She squirmed up to meet him. ‘Gotta air the dirty laundry sometime, I guess.’

He let out a short, soft chuckle. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

He continued to stroke slowly. ‘You’re gonna make me come again,’ Ellie sighed.

‘That’s the plan.’

‘You overcompensate,’ she dared to bait. With her face flushed and her white teeth biting down on her lip, her curls framing her face like a dark halo, she looked utterly radiant.

‘Would you believe me if I told you I thought you really were the most beautiful woman in the world?’ 

She laughed, a high, clear sound like a bell. ‘I think that’s your orgasm talking.’

He continued to stroke, languorously, without urgency. He alternated between fingering her and gently stroking her clit. When his fingers curled inside her and his thumb pressed against the sensitive nub a little gasp escaped her. He watched her as she moved beneath his hand, fascinated, entranced by all the subtle flickers and changes in expression that passed over her face.

The intensity of his gaze embarrassed her. 

‘Don’t look at me,’ she said, twisting her hips helplessly as he continued to fuck his fingers in and out.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Really.’

He could not help kissing her. The action caused him to slow his ministrations and she broke it, gasping, ‘don’t stop. Nn. Ah. I’m close.’

Concentrating on her clit he stroked and stroked in circles, finally coaxing a slow, rolling orgasm. He looked into her eyes as she came, and he was amazed at how sweetly smiley she looked, how flushed and breathless. He loved the soft noises she made, the smell of her, the feel of the muscles clenching, and he found it intoxicating to think that she loved and trusted him enough to allow him to do this.

‘Fuck. Fuck,’ she sobbed. He continued to coax wave after wave, not letting up his stroking for a second. He could feel her abdominal muscles seizing up, and she had to push his hand away with a hiss when it got too much.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Ellie said, somewhat blasphemously. She was trembling all over now. Her left hand lay upon the pillow next to her mouth. Smitten with a sentimental impulse, he took it in his own and kissed it. ‘Good job,’ she concluded.

‘Don’t congratulate me like I’m a bloody show pony.’ 

‘Wonderful form!’ Ellie exclaimed, threading her fingers through his own and drawing his hand to her heart. ‘Perfect execution. Nine out of ten.’

‘Only a nine?’

‘There’s always room for improvement.’ She nestled up to him and wrapped her arms around him. ‘You’re staying the night, yeah?’ 

A vague smile played on his face. ‘Yeah.’

‘Mm. Good,’ she said.

He shifted into a more comfortable position and she whined at the disturbance. He eased her back into place, allowing her to lie on top of him, then locked one arm tight around her. With the other he played with her hair.

‘Always knew you’d be a cuddler,’ Ellie remarked. Her eyes were closed.

‘Pot, meet kettle.’

She snuffled. ‘Luce is dropping off the boys tomorrow at 9. Have to get up early if you want another shot at redeeming yourself.’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘So twice wasn’t enough?’

‘Oh no. You’re really gonna have to put your back into it if you want to make it up to me.’

He smiled into her hair. ‘You are _impossible_.’


	6. How To Seduce Your Wife: A Guide By Alec Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content.
> 
> Established relationship. Originally a deleted scene from What the Water Gave Us, but can easily be seen as a general domestic AU if you're not familiar with that 'verse.

Hardy was good at separating work from family life, and Ellie usually was too, though she could become obsessive at times. At the moment, a sudden spike in drug-related crimes was driving her to distraction. 

She talked about it all the way home. She mumbled to herself as she worked on it in the living room while the kids crawled over her. She responded monosyllabically to any questions sent her way. The only time she paused was to kiss the children goodnight.

It made it awkward for Hardy to broach a certain subject with her, but he was determined to try.

He padded into the room like a cat.

‘The kids are all in bed.’

Ellie was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Evidence was spread all around her. She didn’t look up. ‘Mm-hmm.’

‘All the kids. In bed. Asleep,’ he continued.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘So it’s just us now.’

He didn’t even receive so much as a grunt this time. Hardy frowned as he surveyed his wife. Her long, curly hair was an absolute mess. The kids had tied it into odd knots and she had two pens sticking out from behind her ears. She plucked one of them free and began annotating a report she had balanced on her knee.

Hardy stood awkwardly for a little, his hands flat against his hips. ‘Can I help?’

‘No. M’just reading.’

There was a rattle as she turned over the paper.

Hardy edged closer to her. ‘It’s getting late, El.’

‘Mm.’

‘Maybe you should finish that tomorrow.’

‘There’s something about Neville that’s bugging me.’

She tapped the pen against the paper in annoyance. He scooted closer. Ordinarily he would have started dissecting the evidence with her, but he had other things on his mind. He sat next to her, then reached out and began untangling all the knots in her hair. The other pen tumbled free and skittered across the floor.

‘Sure you don’t want to leave that for now?’ he asked innocently.

Ellie was frowning intensely at the paper. She didn’t seem to feel him. He tried a different tactic, and swept his hands over her shoulders.

‘Y’seem tense.’

No reply.

‘Maybe I could help you… relax,’ he purred. He kneaded her shoulders and leaned forward. His lips just grazed her neck when she snapped bolt upright, whacking Hardy in the nose, and shouted:

‘Cocaine!’

She scrambled across the room and grabbed at another sheet of paper, and the aggressive motion knocked him clean backwards. ‘Ah-ha!’ she exclaimed gleefully, and she began comparing two different documents.

With a sigh, Hardy rubbed his nose and shuffled closer to her again. As she hunched over, muttering to herself, he tried in various, half-hearted, feeble ways to get her attention; he plucked at the bottom of her t-shirt, touched her waist, kissed her shoulder. Then he gave up with a sigh and simply leaned against her, making a disgruntled rumbling noise in the hope she would get the message. 

Half an hour passed. Hardy was still pressed against her, dozing lightly, when Ellie abruptly said:

‘I give up. I’ll do the rest tomorrow.’ She sat up and stretched until something cracked. ‘All right, sex time.’

Hardy startled upright to find Ellie grabbing his hand. ‘What?’

‘You. Bed. Now,’ she said.

‘All right,’ he said, slightly bewildered that his cunning seduction had worked as she dragged him up the stairs.

‘I think we should bring in Neville for questioning again tomorrow,’ she said as Hardy undressed her. 

‘If you like,’ he said happily, kissing her neck. 

‘And we should definitely apply for a search warrant for his house, too.’ She scooted back onto the mattress and pulled him down. He nuzzled between her breasts, then sucked one of the nipples.

‘It won’t get approved,’ he rumbled. ‘Need more evidence. More than circumstantial.’

He continued to deliver slow, scratchy kisses to her body. She hummed.

‘All right. Well, let’s speak to his girlfriend too. I know Tanya, she’s a bit of a ditz. She might let something slip.’

Hardy drew back and frowned at her. She was gazing at the ceiling, a thoughtful look on her face.

‘El, are you sure you’re up for this right now?’

She looked at him. ‘Course. Why?’ 

‘You seem very - uh - distracted.’

‘Do I? Huh.’ She shoved her hand down his pants.

He shuddered as she stroked up and down. ‘Nn. Yeah. Do you mind if we maybe - uh - _uhhh -_ don’t talk about work for a bit?’

‘Fine by me.’

He kicked his pants and trousers off, then dove back on top of her. He sucked his fingers, then pushed them inside her, slicking in and out.

‘Course, it’s not Neville that matters so much as who he’s dealing with.’

Hardy sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. ‘El, please.’

‘Sorry. It’s just driving me crazy, thinking of who it might be - don’t stop,’ she added, and Hardy resumed his ministrations. She shifted her hips in time with his stroking and twined her arms around him. ‘Mm. Good. Because it’d have to be someone local - all the evidence points to them having local knowledge of the area.’

‘You know, it could easily be more than one person.’ He kissed her as she formulated her answer.

‘True.’ She broke the kiss with a little gasp and started stroking his cock again. ‘But I think it must be mainly one person that Neville deals with. The text messages seemed to suggest that, anyway.’

She guided him down and he thrust inside her with a shallow groan. ‘What about the footage from the boatyard?’ he asked.

‘We still don’t know if that’s actually connected.’ She shuffled her hips and wrapped her legs around him. ‘Harder, now.’

He obliged. ‘I don’t see - why - it wouldn’t be. Why else would they hide their faces?’

‘They were just - wearing hoodies. Might not mean - oh _God_ , do that again.’

‘Ahh - maybe you’re right.’ They paused to share a number of deep kisses. 

‘Maybe - we could ask - Neville’s mum, too.’

‘Nnn.’ He bumped his forehead to hers. ‘Think about it later.’

‘But if we -’

‘ _Later_ ,’ he insisted, and she fell silent.

He couldn’t quite hold out long enough to make her come before he did. Ellie made a little disappointed noise, but he only gathered her close and used his fingers to finish her off, stroking her in _just_ the right way, the way he knew she liked it. 

‘Ahh,’ she said with a little breathy shiver, and he knew she was right on the edge. ‘Oh…’ 

He loved seeing that look on her face. Intoxicated, he whispered, ‘Ellie, Ellie, I love you,’ as he kissed her.

‘Oh, oh - ahhh,’ she moaned into his mouth. She broke the kiss and he felt her come. ‘Oh God – oh – _BRIAN!!!_ ’ she screamed.

Hardy pulled back and looked at her, bewildered. ‘Brian?’

‘Dirty Brian!’ she gasped, looking straight into his eyes. Her face was flushed and excited. ‘I forgot about the evidence Dirty Brian gave us the other night! Something about traces of the drug on the bootprint they found - I have to call him - have to see if the analysis has come through yet!’

She patted his face happily, then unceremoniously shoved him off. ‘Great work. Thanks, love.’

She snatched up her nightie and raced down the stairs to continue working, leaving Hardy lying alone. Looking rather put out, he grumbled, ‘Love you too.’

A few minutes later he padded downstairs. He knew she wouldn’t sleep until she’d finished, so he thought it best to stay up with her. Placing a blanket around his wife’s shoulders, he thrust a hot cup of tea under her nose and sat cross-legged next to her so they could work through the rest of the evidence together. 


End file.
